


Selfies (Memories)

by Nival_Vixen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Complete, Cute, God Narrates, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), One Shot, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: To say that Crowley invented the selfie is a lie. It's not even a stretch of the truth or a little white lie or any other sort of twisted truth. In fact, Aziraphale invented selfies by accident, as is often the way with Aziraphale. It came about because of food, as is always the way with Aziraphale. (Crowley did invent the selfie stick, though, so that's just as good in his books. Or bad, depending whose books you're reading.)





	Selfies (Memories)

To say that Crowley invented the selfie is a lie. It's not even a stretch of the truth or a little white lie or any other sort of twisted truth. In fact, Aziraphale invented selfies by accident, as is often the way with Aziraphale. It came about because of food, as is always the way with Aziraphale. (Crowley did invent the selfie stick, though, so that's just as good in his books. Or bad, depending whose books you're reading.)

Aziraphale had been fascinated by photography since the camera was first invented, though not as fascinated as his books, of course. The camera was still something he appreciated, the idea to capture a moment in time and keep it forever, to remember it again even when the moment or memory itself was long gone. The reason Aziraphale had created the selfie was to send a photo of himself with his plate of crepes to Crowley, who was the only other being on Earth who would have understood the joke.

(Crowley hadn't wanted to twist the precious thing Aziraphale had shared with him, but Hastur had tempted three priests and Ligur had tempted an actual archbishop, so Crowley had needed something big. He still felt his stomach twist anytime someone reminded him of the selfie and his hand in it. His stomach doesn't twist when it's about the selfie stick, which he really doesn't get enough credit for.)

Aziraphale often wished he had had a camera during the last six thousand years, even if there were parts he hadn't truly enjoyed and would prefer to forget, there were also moments that made him smile and his chest ache. He didn't have a human heart, of course, but his body was made up of his soul and for some reason, his chest always seemed to have an ache when he thought of the tender moments, the unexpected moments, the smack-in-his-face realisation as a bomb was dropping on them in a church with Crowley standing there - almost dancing, in fact - and announcing it would take a miracle to save them both. Aziraphale had done it and saved them, but Crowley had saved his books. His soul aches at the memory and Aziraphale knows a camera would never be able to capture that moment. Still, he'd like to think it would try its best, just like humans always did.

A hundred and eighty-ish years after the invention of the selfie, and a few weeks after the Almost Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale stopped outside of the bookshop for one of their reminiscing nights, both planning on talking about the last six thousand years without saying anything too important or revealing, and getting absolutely drunk on Aziraphale's good wine. They'd been celebrating nearly every night since the Almost Apocalypse and had no plans to stop.

Before Aziraphale could get out of the Bentley, Crowley handed him an iPhone, saying they needed it to communicate with each other if they weren't home, and promptly got out without waiting for a response. Aziraphale, who had thought his telephone was already quite good - he was the reason Crowley still had an antique answering machine, though Aziraphale didn't know that - took a moment to navigate through the human device. It was similar to the phone Michael had, but also severely lacking in so many ways, and thus it was far too awkward to navigate without prior knowledge or an instruction manual.

Or perhaps there could be an instruction book, he mused, though doubted it would be one of his prized possessions like his first edition signed prophecy books and bibles.

A surprised shout from inside the Bentley had Crowley opening the door immediately to check on Aziraphale, who was sitting there wide-eyed and a little pale.

"I apologise. I accidentally turned the camera on and I saw myself. I didn't expect it. Or my chins," Aziraphale muttered, stroking his chin curiously and thinking about Gabriel's comment about needing to lose his gut.

"Your chin is fine, angel. Would you get out of the car now? I don't want your smell to take over the new car smell," Crowley said with a glare.

"You've had the car for seventy years, Crowley; the new car smell doesn't exist in here anymore," Aziraphale said, sniffing and frowning.

"It had better," Crowley growled.

Somewhere in London, deep in the bowels of his apartment, Crowley's houseplants shuddered.

"Well, I suppose you're right - "

Crowley frowned as he saw Aziraphale stroke his chin once more. _The front-facing camera was obviously his idea; who knew humans would do with something like that, especially after they ruined the normal back-facing cameras with dick pics?_ He sure as Heaven didn't know what they would do and that was why Crowley had a love-hate relationship with all of humanity. Humanity's imagination surpassed his own and they could leave him slack-jawed at the things they thought of or did as a result, sometimes both good and bad ways.

He had thought the same about Warlock when he'd been his sort-of godfather, and wondered if this was the way all godfathers felt about all of their godchildren: amazed and awed and wanting to strangle the brats for being so bloody stupid when they had the potential to be so damn smart.

_Dick pics, really, humanity?! That's what you're using your big brains for?! Not as big as dolphins or whales, of course, but bigger than a gnat or the average Hell-shrunk demon, and that's what you think of?!_

Crowley snarled, shook his head, and sat in the driver's seat once more, closing the Bentley's door behind him. "What did you do, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"The camera," Crowley prompted, sternly telling himself that he wasn't endeared by Aziraphale's absent-minded expression and that soft little smile he had sometimes.

_For God's, the Devil's,_ ** _someone's_** _sake, he was going soft_.

Aziraphale was surprised by the request but did as Crowley asked and took the photo this time, showing it to him.

Crowley grinned at the sight of Aziraphale's face caught on the phone screen and fiddled with a few buttons to send the photo to himself, deleting the sent message so Aziraphale wouldn't know.

"Oh, don't laugh at me. You know I hate it when you mock me," Aziraphale said, his mouth turning to a pouting frowning thing that Crowley also had a love-hate relationship with.

"You love me," Crowley replied, grinning wickedly.

Aziraphale gaped and looked ready to protest, but took the phone from Crowley and got out of the Bentley without a response. Crowley followed Aziraphale across to his bookshop, a little surprised to see Aziraphale pointing the phone at himself and frowning at each result. Rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, Crowley opened the door and walked in, grabbing the phone out of the angel's hand as Aziraphale muttered about miracles.

"You're doing it wrong, angel. You don't need a miracle, you need a longer reach," Crowley murmured, holding the phone up, snapping a photo of the two of them together and throwing the phone back to Aziraphale, who caught it with a slight fumble.

"I don't need a longer - oh, well. That's not bad, now is it?" Aziraphale said, smiling brightly and looking far too similar to the first sunrise Crowley had seen.

The first sunrise Crowley had seen had been the first sunrise anyone had seen, of course. It was the first time light had existed and Crowley had snuck out of Heaven to have a look at God's work when he was meant to be meeting Lucifer and the other angels for what would probably have been an exceptionally boring discussion about stars or dinosaurs or something. There was something breathtaking about that first sunrise with its brilliant reds and soft pinks and mix of blues and purples and several other colours that humans would never be able to see, stardust still sparkling in the sky of Earth. Even Crowley, who hadn't needed to breathe as such, had felt breathless at the sight. He felt the same way every time Aziraphale smiled that soft smile at him and Crowley still didn't know what to do about it. _He'd already saved the angel's books, hadn't he?_

"Angel, would you get the wine already?" Crowley asked with a sigh.

Aziraphale realised with a start that he was being remiss in his duties as a host and hurried to get the bottles of wine he'd promised Crowley. Curious about the photo now that Aziraphale wasn't in the room, Crowley grabbed the phone and looked at the photo he'd taken. Aziraphale looked adorably flustered, Crowley scowling at the camera, and Crowley wondered how long it'd take humans to make something that could print photos from the phone.

A small suggestion to a techie should do it, Crowley mused, even as he sent the photo to himself and deleted the evidence again.

The background of Aziraphale's contact number would be fire - the warmest thing in Hell and providing nothing but comfort for a demon like him, even if he did saunter vaguely downwards rather than Fall - but the contact photo would be Aziraphale's flustered face and looking at Crowley.

"You don't smile in your photos," Aziraphale said, almost admonishing as he returned with their alcohol.

"Mmhmm," Crowley said, gesturing in a 'give me the alcohol already, angel' motion.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and huffed a sigh, already pouring their drinks. "You should try being more patient, Crowley."

"I tried it once. Worst ten seconds of my life. Well, except for the fourteenth century. That was definitely the worst. Fifth and sixth centuries tie for second; too damp," he muttered, accepting the glass and taking a long drink of wine. He looked at the bottle Aziraphale set down next to him, squinting at the label in approval.

As planned, they proceeded to reminisce and celebrate and get very drunk.

"It still surprises me that you were the Black Knight," Aziraphale said, shaking his head from where he was draped in his armchair awkwardly. "Before I knew that, I thought I could turn you to the light, you know."

Crowley snorted. "Doesn't surprise me, angel. I thought I'd be able to tempt you over to my side before I knew," he admitted, drinking deeply.

"We cancelled each other out, like you said," Aziraphale said, frowning. "Do you think we do that now? Cancel each other out?" he asked, blinking owlishly and drinking down the last of his bottle.

It was only a small miracle that his glass refilled on its own, really.

"Not what I meant, angel. I meant the... power thing," Crowley said, waving his bottle carefully - even drunk, he knew better than to spill wine on Aziraphale's books.

"The power thing," Aziraphale echoed in agreement, nodding firmly. He glanced down at his stomach, a frown forming. "I don't have chins, you know."

"Angel, honestly, I'll use a miracle to make you forget if I have to."

"It doesn't work that way, Crawley. Crowley," Aziraphale corrected, frowning at himself.

A few thousand years knowing Crowley as Crawley still hadn't cancelled out the other thousand years knowing Crawley as Crowley, it seemed.

"I know, I know. But you're an angel, you don't have that human thing about doubt and self-pretty."

"Self-pretty?"

"Self-pity. Shut up, I'm drunk."

"So'm I. I'm pretty, aren't I?" Aziraphale asked, innocent when drunk, just as he'd been in the beginning.

"'Course you are, angel. Always have been, always will be."

It was too close to a confession, too close to the truth, too important and definitely too revealing. Crowley hoped they could stay drunk a little longer so they'd forget he'd said anything.

"So are you, Crowley. Like, like... like a camera."

Even drunk, that didn't make sense.

"What?"

"A camera," Aziraphale repeated, more emphatically this time, though still not making any sense. "You know, keeping memories and, and... I'm still drunk, aren't I?"

"Very drunk, angel."

"Yes, I am an angel. You're a demon, but... you're still... I mean, just - " Aziraphale blinked owlishly.

Crowley was either too drunk or not drunk enough for this. These nights weren't meant to be for important things, but this night was crossing a line from reminiscent into revealing. He wondered if being sober would be better, but couldn't bring himself to ask, waiting for Aziraphale to finish his sentence.

"Cameras keep important things," Aziraphale said triumphantly.

Crowley definitely wasn't drunk enough. Aziraphale, on the other hand, certainly was. His snores filled the bookshop in a way that his books never could. Crowley sighed, taking his sunglasses off and rubbing his eyes. Sobering them up took a small miracle and Aziraphale continued to sleep even as Crowley left the bookshop to return home.

He had to water his plants anyway.

...

The next morning, Crowley turned off his alarm and opened his bedroom curtains, sans sunglasses. He got up early to watch the sunrise every morning. While sleeping was something Crowley did with pride (and to the confusion of other demons), sleep was only the prelude to the morning sunrise. Watching the sun come up over the horizon, the sky filled with pinks and reds and blues and a few other colours no humans could see or describe, Crowley felt just as awed as he had that first time. Just as awed as he felt every time he saw Aziraphale smile.

_Fuck_.

Crowley wondered if there was any point in telling Aziraphale the truth. He didn't want to ruin their six-thousand-year friendship, after all, and he wasn't exactly subtle anyway. _Surely Aziraphale had to know how Crowley felt? What if he did and he didn't feel the same way, but didn't want to lose his best friend, so hadn't said anything about it?_

The logic hurt Crowley's head as well as his chest, and he contemplated what he could do.

He doubted he could stay away from Aziraphale. It was like Aziraphale was an angel-shaped magnet and Crowley was a burnt piece of metal, struggling not to go to him, but knowing there was nothing he could do to fight against the inevitable. Except, in this case, the magnet wanted nothing to do with him. The metal, the demon, whatever, _both_.

Crowley turned away from the sunrise to put the fear of Crowley into his houseplants while he tried to use his imagination to think of a way to stop the pain in his chest that rivalled even the holiest of holy water held in a tartan thermos.

...

Aziraphale woke without a hangover which was nothing short of a miracle and certainly not one of his. Blinking and licking his dry lips, Aziraphale looked around the bookshop for Crowley. The bookshop was silent around him and Aziraphale told himself he wasn't disappointed by the fact. He looked over to the window, surprised to see the sun rising. He hadn't fallen asleep in... well, a decade. That decade had usually involved Aziraphale reading throughout the night and the sunrise wasn't something he had actually paid attention to for an even longer time. However, this morning it felt important and Aziraphale made his way to the top of the bookshop to watch the sun rising over the horizon.

He watched the sky change colours overhead and thought about the last six thousand years. Crowley was always there, always at the important parts, and even the ones that weren't so important. Running into him in Rome had been a surprise and one that Aziraphale took almost two thousand years to realise and admit to himself that had been a pleasant surprise.

Crowley always went too fast for Aziraphale and he felt like he was struggling to keep up, always falling behind, sinking in quicksand, and yet... and yet, Crowley always pulled him out of the sand, brushed him off, and kept him by his side.

It wasn't like Aziraphale couldn't have made it out of the quicksand on his own, of course, he certainly could. It was just he liked being by Crowley's side, the metaphorical feel of Crowley's hand in his, and pulling him up to the surface. Crowley made sense when all other things in the world didn't, even (or perhaps especially) if it was part of the Ineffable Plan.

He took a photo of the sky with his new iPhone, used a miracle to make it look exactly as he saw it, and sent it to Crowley. He wanted to share the sunrise with him, even though he knew Crowley would probably be asleep.

Aziraphale was surprised to receive a response in seconds and not one full of swearing, either.

_Beautiful, angel_.

Aziraphale smiled then, his chest-heart-soul filling with love and warmth. He wondered if Crowley's offer to show him his apartment still stood, though it had been almost thirty years since the initial offer. _He'd better not ask though, that could be considered rude, and Crowley had just been grateful for the holy water. It wasn't like he was offering to..._ ahem _... dance_.

There is exactly one angel who can dance and while every demon can dance, they don't do it well. There is only one demon the angel wants to dance with, anyway. The gavotte is out of style, but Aziraphale is certain that Crowley could teach him how to dance, showing him the steps, and keeping him by his side the whole time.

...

Crowley received the photo from Aziraphale far too early in the morning, and he knew then - just as certainly as he knew in the burning bookshop - that the angel loved him just as he loved his angel. The message washed away all of his self-doubt ( _self-pretty_ , a snarky hiss said in the back of his mind, Crowley's mouth twitching at the reminder of the night before) and he replied immediately.

Deciding he had to go through with his plan now that he'd planned the damn thing, Crowley clicked his fingers and left the apartment, sunglasses on and dressed to impress.

...

Aziraphale startled at the knock at the door, frowning when he saw the time; seven o'clock was too early for God, so it was definitely too early for his bookshop to be open. "We're closed!"

"It's me, angel."

Surprised at Crowley's voice and feeling a smile on his face, Aziraphale hurried over to open the door, only to see a bright camera flash in his eyes.

"Ow, _fuck_."

"Well, angel, there's no need for that kind of language," Crowley said, mock-serious and grinning when Aziraphale looked at him when his eyes adjusted properly.

"What are those?" Aziraphale asked, frowning at the sight of Crowley with several cameras slung around his neck.

"Cameras. They're for you."

Aziraphale looked pleased and confused at the same time. Crowley's chest ached again. "Crowley? Why did you get me cameras?"

"I..."

Sometimes plans don't always go the way people - or demons - expect them to go. In this case, Crowley thought his plan was obvious when to outsiders - or angels - it was simply confusing.

"Cameras, um... no, I..." Crowley floundered; what had made perfect sense in his head only a few hours ago was now too difficult to put into words.

Aziraphale remembered his comment about cameras the night before and how he'd compared Crowley to one in a drunken haze. He smiled as he began to understand Crowley's plan and Crowley felt the ache in his chest ease at the sight.

"They keep memories and I wanted you to make memories. With me, angel," Crowley added, hating how uncertain ( _how human_ ) his voice sounded.

If Crowley had thought the first sunrise was bright, it paled in comparison to Aziraphale's smile then.

"All of my memories are with you already, Crowley. The important ones, at least," Aziraphale said. "Won't you come in? I... I've been meaning to ask you about dancing."

"Oh, thank God," Crowley said, stepping into the bookshop to kiss his angel, Aziraphale welcoming him with open arms and an open soul.

...

You're welcome.

...

The end.


End file.
